The Collected Musings on Ryou Bakura
by Amarielle
Summary: A collection of dialogues, journal entries, and medical files excerpted from young Ryou Bakura's troubled life. Rated for thematic elements, language, and mature content.
1. hush

Ten.

I'm only ten.

God, please don't let me die—I'm only ten.

I'll try to be a good boy.  I'll try to say all my Hail Mary's and go to confession every day.

I'll try.

I'll try really hard, I promise—

Ow.

_//Hush, little Ryou, don't say a word…//_

Please, God.  Whoever this demon is…just please make him go away.  I don't want to die.

_//Yami's gonna buy you a mocking bird…//_

Did I do something wrong?  Have I committed an unforgivable sin?  I'm sorry if I have, but I'm only ten and I'm still learning.

_//And if that mocking bird don't sing, yami's gonna buy you a diamond ring…//_

What is it about me that he hates so much?  I remember times late at night when I'd wake up in his arms.  He'd just be holding me, rocking me, petting me and calling me his angel.

If I'm his angel, why does he hate me so much?

I don't mean to make him angry, I really don't.

Ouch.  Ouchouchouch

_//And if that diamond ring turns brass, yami's gonna buy you a looking glass…//_

His voice is getting closer to my ear.

Oh God, I'm really afraid.  I don't want to die.

_//And if that looking glass gets broke, yami's gonna buy you a billy goat…//_

How does he always manage to find a knife in this place, what did he call it…a Soul Room?

I'm starting to consider it a package deal…a yami complete with perfect, stainless steel knife…

_//And if that billy goat don't pull—//_

ow.

_//—yami's gonna buy you a cart and mule…//_

I think I'll be sick…

I wonder, if I pass out, will I wake up, just like from a dream?  Can I just end this somehow?

Can I really die in this place anyway?  Is it real at all?

It hurts.  And I'm scared.  This is why the other kids make fun of me.

I'm scared.

_//Oh, what is it?  Are you crying, little Ryou?//_

Hhn

_//Answer me.//_

Please God.

_//Oh, you're praying to that deity of yours?  Let's see if he can get you out of this one…//_

(Noiseless scream.)

_//Don't have anything to say now, do you, pretty Ryou?//_

Keep your hands off me.

_//Hush little Ryou, don't say a word…//_

You sang that part already.

_//…diamond ring…//_

I think I'm really losing it this time.

_//…cart and mule tip over…//_

Tip.  Sway.

I'll be sick.

_//Good boy.//_

That isn't part of the song.

Why is your voice still hushed?

_//Hush.//_

Please, God—

_//Shh.//_


	2. confession

 "Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.  

It has been twelve days since my last confession."

"Tell me the sins of your heart, child."

"…

I have committed murder in thought."

"Against whom?"

"…

Someone.

And God."

"Why against God?"

"…

I didn't mean it.

I was just angry.

I said I hated Him, but I really don't.

The one I hate is…"

"The 'someone' you mentioned?"

"…

Yes."

"Why do you hate him?"

"…

You'd hate him, too.

…the things he does…"

_(urgently) _"My child, is someone hurting you?"

"…

Yes."

"Is it…your father?"

"No."

"Your mother?"

"She's dead."

"Who's hurting you, child?  I want to help.

We are called to deal with sins like this immediately.

God does not want you to suffer."

"…

Heh."

"What's funny?"

"…

God is the One making me suffer.

He brought someone into my life to make me suffer."

"…

Why would He do that?"

"…

I don't know.

I thought maybe you could tell me."

"…

I don't know what secret sins weigh on your heart.

Is there anything you've done to incur the wrath of God?"

"…

Which sin do you want?

I've quite a list.

What can I say—I'm only human."

"…"

"I lie.

Every day.

I lie to him to get out of being hurt, but it never works.

…

I swear.

I cuss when it hurts the worst, because I'm angry.

Dad always swears when he's angry."

"Tell me honestly—does your father hurt you?"

"…

tch tch.

You haven't been listening, father.

If it were him, I would have told you already.

It's not."

"…"

"What else do you want?

I lust.

Like any other guy.

And I'm only ten.

Funny…but not.

And I masturbate.

…

I try not to, but I'm just…too weak."

"…"

_(crying)_ "…

Sometimes I think about killing myself.

I hate myself, father.

Maybe that's why I'm suffering."

"Because you hate yourself?"

_(sniffle) _"I'm part of God's creation, am I not?

Therefore, I hate God's creation.

I have reason to be punished."

"My child, we all have reason to be punished.

But no one deserves to be abused."

"…"

"You need to seek help, child.

What's your name?"

"…

I didn't come here to confess my name.

I came to confess my sin, and to be absolved.

Can you do that?"

"Well, I—we need, that is, you—"

"That's all I needed to know.

Goodbye, father."

"My child—"


	3. journal 1

Dear diary,

                I feel kinda silly writing this, but the therapist said it would help, so I'll give it a shot.  It's been a little over two weeks since I came home all bloodied up.  That's when father started sending me to see a psychiatrist.  In his words, I'd become 'a threat to myself and to those around me'.

                I didn't want to become a threat.  I couldn't help it.  I didn't know what yami was doing while he was in control, but whenever I woke up, I just found my way home.  What could I have expected?  It was inevitable that father would've jumped to conclusions.

                But anyway, the counselor's really nice and he doesn't yell at me if I don't answer his questions.  He doesn't get mad or cuss or anything, which I thought was weird.  I haven't told him a lot, because I don't really know him.  You don't go around telling all your personal problems to total strangers, unless you're in confession, right?

                I don't know.

                I just don't want him to know everything.  Not yet.  He might get angry then, when I tell him about the things I think of when I'm alone, or the pictures I get in my head when I listen to certain songs on the radio.  As soon as I tell him the truth, he'll know I'm a freak, so I just want to have fun being friends right now.

                He's really nice, but I know that's just his job.  It doesn't particularly bother me, though.  It's nice to have someone to talk to.  And he has lots of great advice.  I told him about the Catholic school back in London—about the kids there and how they treated me.  And he said their teasing was just a sign of their weakness.

                He went on to say that my enduring it without fighting back was a sign of my strength.  He said the best thing to do in a situation like that would be to tell an adult immediately (I hadn't) and I thought for a second that he knew.  Maybe he knew about yami's voice in my head and the way he treats me.  Maybe he was secretly urging me to "tell an adult immediately" and fess up to him right there.  I didn't.

                One of the things he told father could help me was getting a pet.  He said that the responsibility would do me a lot of good, and I liked that idea, because father never let me have a pet before.  We went to the pound a couple days ago and father took me to see the dogs.  He told me I could pick out whichever one I wanted.

                But the more I looked at the dogs, the less I wanted one.  I saw a little girl leaving with a cat and I told father I'd like to have a cat instead, but he didn't like that idea too much.  I guess having a dog would make me tougher, but I won't get one.  I want a cat.

                Thursday is my eleventh birthday.


	4. cuff

_//Ryou…//_

…

_//Ryou, what are you doing? //_

…

_//You're doing it again, aren't you? //_

…Shut up.

_//That's no way to speak to me, is it? //_

…Just go away.

_//That won't be happening any day soon. //_

…

_//Don't want to talk to me? //_

…

_//Fine.  _

_Go about your business—I'll watch. //_

Leave me the hell alone.

_//You're going to start throwing obscenities now?_

_That's rather low of you. //_

…

(mockingly) _//Aww, suddenly lost the will, eh?_

_Nevermind me—you won't even know I'm here. //_

(pounding his fist against the wall) Shut up!

_//Be careful not to start shouting out loud—_

_you don't want your father to barge in on you, do you?//_

Of course not!  Stop aggravating me!

_//Anger—I like.  Do it some more. //_

Damn it! Leave me alone!

_//Your color's all flushed—you're breathing laboriously._

_I like this very much. //_

Fuck off!

_//After you.  _

_Now, finish what you started. //_

Why do you always have to be pestering me?

Can't you give me ten minutes of silence?

_//Of course not.  Stop aggravating me. //_

(both hands on the wall) You're so immature.

_//Me?  You're the one who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. //_

Where do you learn such clichés?

_//I have the best of teachers—you're a walking cliché.  _

_Just look at yourself—'Woe is me, boo hoo.'//_

Eat shit and die.

_//A little late for that. //_

(sniffling)

_//Ra on a stick.  Are you crying, you pansy?_

_Daddy won't get you a cat, you little girl?_

_Anniversary of your mother's death—_

_go think about her while you cuff in the powder room, eh?//_

SHUT UP!  What the HELL do you know about it?

You don't know ANYTHING!! (pounding his fist on the wall)

I hate you.  I HATE YOU!!

(door knob rattles—the door is locked)  "Ryou, are you alright?"

(on a scratchy throat) "…I'm fine, dad.  I'll be out in a second."

_//…_

_Your precious therapist will hear about this. //_

…

_//What do you plan to tell him?_

_All of it?  All your secrets?_

_About how you pine?_

_About your bad habits?_

_About the hateful words you write about your father?_

_About me?_

_…_

_Or is that a confession for your priest? //_

(sniffling) …shut up…

_//…_

_For Ra's sake, make yourself presentable, before your father really starts to suspect. //_


	5. in therapy

Doctor:  Ryou, can you tell me what's going on?

Ryou:  What do you mean?  

                        _(A clock ticks on the desk.)_

Doctor:           I've heard…of the strange ways you've started acting.

Ryou:  _(sighs)_ What has father told you?

Doctor:  _(pauses)_ Only what he knows…Ryou, I want to help you.  I know there's something going on…something you can't tell anyone…am I right?

Ryou:             _(in a small voice)_ Yes.

Doctor:           And we're friends now, aren't we?  Do you trust that I am your friend?

Ryou:  …Yes.

Doctor:           Can you trust me when I say that, as your friend, I want to know what's going on so that I can help you?

Ryou:  …Sure.

Doctor:  So…as a friend…can you tell me?

                        _(A dog barks somewhere outside, and the clock ticks.)_

Ryou:             No.

Doctor:  Why not?

Ryou:  …Because then you wouldn't want to be my friend.

Doctor:  What makes you say that?

Ryou:  …Because then you'd know.

Doctor:  _(begins tapping his pencil against the paper before him)_ But then I might be able to help you.

Ryou:             No, you wouldn't.  You'd want me to stay this way.

Doctor:  Why would I ever want that?

Ryou:  _(pauses)_ I'm not worth helping.

                        _(The doctor's voice grows more sincere, but the tapping and the ticking continue.)_

Doctor:           Yes, you are.  Everyone deserves help.  They deserve to be heard.

Ryou:  _(after a soft laugh)_ You want to hear me?

Doctor:           Of course.

Ryou:  …Promise you won't tell?

Doctor:  …I'm sorry.  I can't promise you that.

Ryou:  _(brow tensing)_ No—you can't tell anyone.  Especially not my father.  

                        _(The tapping stops.)_

Ryou:  _(tearfully)_ Please.

Doctor:  _(straightens)_ I will not tell your father.

                        _(Ticking, ticking.)_

Ryou:  _(after a very long pause)_ There's this voice…

                        _(The clock chimes twice.)_


	6. ninth session

DOCTOR KYOTO TAKEI

ON PATIENT Ryou Bakura

AS OF THE ninth SESSION

                NOTES:

Patient is hallucinating, hearing "a voice"—this personality has no name, but is most likely the "demon" mentioned in his life (see notes on sessions three through eight).

Previously incurred wounds (see notes on first, fourth, and seventh sessions) are claimed to have been result of the "voice" taking control of the boy's person.

Prone to self-abuse, anger, and depression.

The patient's journal provides insight to a normal ten year-old's psyche.  He experiences loneliness and bitter feelings toward his father and tutors.  He begrudges the many moves in England and the move here to Tokyo. 

One mention of what is obviously the "voice" or "demon" is found there in the first entry—the boy calls the personality "yami" which literally means "darkness" or "shadow".  The patient is creating a mystery for himself out of a need for attention.  

Confronting his own shadow may also symbolize confronting his past and his feelings of guilt over his mother's death.

When asked what he thought I could do for him, he replied, "Don't let me die."

                DIAGNOSIS:

Child abuse a possibility.

Clinically depressed.  Bipolar.  Could border on suicidal or schizophrenic.

Medication needed immediately.  In the case of another self-violent episode, hospitalization may be necessary.

                ATTATCHED:

The following is a report recently written by the boy.  The content hardly worries me—I read it once and threw it aside—but the notion struck me in the night, and I looked to confirm my suspicion.  One will note the message spelled out in every capital letter:

_Post-modernism has changed the face of democracy, as we know it.  Little do we know about the true founders of this movement, but much can be learned from the trail they blazed.  Examples of such influential schools of mind can be seen daily in the world around us.  Alarmingly, we tend to take such conveniences lightly, and with complete disregard for the effort poured into them.  Surely every one of us needs to have a fair understanding of where our political system came from and why it's important for us today.  Even the least of men should have an understanding of where he came from._

_Henry the Eighth had no compassion for his people, and he paid for his negligence dearly.  Lax governing sires a vengeful nation—the king learned this the hard way.  Power corrupts, and power in the wrong hands is devastating.  Many nations and kingdoms have fallen in such hands.  Egregious ignorance has been the downfall of every weak people._

_In the same way, today's society has grown weak.  More often than not, any schoolchild cannot name even one feudal lord.  Sadly, this lack of knowledge traces directly to the source—the parent and, consequentially, the lax government.  Unknown by today's youth, great leaders of our past are left forgotten, our lineage and legacy proven void.  Far be it for me, however, to condemn such youth—the mirror shows another just like them.  For therein lies the image of today's youth.  Our reputations betray us; our parents hide their faces in shame.  Can we not recognize our faults?  Are we not cognizant of our shortcomings?  The day is near when we will assume the leading roles of our parents before us, and I fear what that day holds for society.  Nothing good can come from lethargic minds.  God help us all._

Patient received an 'F'.


	7. journal 2

                I don't know what the hell is wrong with me.  It's like I'm screaming at the top of my lungs and my father only pushes me further away.  I'm just a burden to him.  I'm a burden to everyone.  I know I must be giving my psychiatrist ulcers.

                The other day, I cut myself.  Not on purpose, mind you.  It really was an accident, though I'm sure Dr. Kyoto will remember to give me some hell about it.  I cut my hand on a link in a fence.  It's funny, because it bled so much, but it didn't hurt at all.

                I got mad at my father.  I yelled curses at him.  I told him I hate him.  I told him he's a sonofabitch and can go to hell for all I care.  I told him it was his fault that mom died.  The doctors had told us there would be complications—he _knew_, and he pushed her too far and she bled to death and my baby sister died before she was even born and it was his fault.  It's his fault, God and all the saints damn him.

                He hit me.

                I never apologized for the things I said, and I never will.  He deserved them.  It's probably wrong of me to say so, but I don't care.  I don't know what happened to me.  I used to give a damn what my father thought about me.  Now nothing can make me care.  What's the worst he can do?  Give me up for adoption?  That wouldn't be so bad.  That'd be really nice, actually.

                If it's not my father yelling at me or yami doing whatever the hell he feels to me, it's my psychiatrist lecturing me and ignoring the real reason I ended up in therapy or my priest making up some extravagant reason for my coming to him.  It's always something these days.  Schoolwork and chores and pressure about further education and political awareness.

                I'm so burnt out, so run down.  I chew the nerve to dull the pain.  "You have the ability to see beauty in ordinary things.  Do not lose this ability," so a fortune cookie once told me.  I ate it.  I hate it.  What is this frustration lapping at the limits of my mind, breaking on the boundaries of my strength, wearing on the walls of my control?  Is this familiar?  What does it mean?

                I turned twelve yesterday.  Dad left me a card in the morning before rushing off to some archeologist "important meeting" or another.  I'm only twelve.  Is life supposed to be this hard?  Sometimes I pray, but I swear God must be laughing at me.  He never answers—is life supposed to be so hard?  Or am I just weak?  Can anyone help me be strong?  My father won't.  My psychiatrist hasn't.  My priest was convinced I'm being beaten.  What was that?  A year ago?

                Maybe he was blessed with foresight.


	8. first signs

"Ryou, are you even listening to me?"

The boy paused, shifting his weight uncomfortably.  "Yes, father," he mumbled, still refusing eye contact.  

"This is important.  Doctor Kyoto says that he's decided you're bipolar."

"Has he?" Ryou asked amusedly.

His father sighed.  "There's medication you can take.  What if we—"

"There's a pill for everything, isn't there?"  

_//Heh heh. //_

"Ryou, the doctor says it will help your…"

"—Imbalance?  Complex?  Hysteria?  Depression?"

"Ryou, please.  I don't like this one-on-one any more than you do."

"Then why even bother?" he snapped, looking immediately into his father's eyes.

"I wanted," the father's voice faltered.  "The doctor said…it would be good for you."

"Since when have you followed whatever the doctors say?"  Ryou smirked.  "You know what would be really good for me?"  _//Just leave me alone. //  _"Just leave me alone, okay?  I'll be fine."  _//Fine. //  _"Go away."

His father frowned.  "Listen to you…you're not yourself."

_//No, don't listen.  You're just fine. //_

"I'm fine."

"—No, you're not, Ryou!"

"What do you know!?"  The boy's voice wavered, his eyes welling with tears.  "What do you know about me?  You don't know me!!"

His father paused, shock registering in his features as if he'd been struck.  "You're my son—"

"I'm supposed to be."

At length, his father nodded sadly.  "You're right," he admitted.  "You're right.  I've been doing a terrible job as a father, haven't I?"

Ryou didn't respond.

"It's all right—you don't have to say anything.  I know.  I've ignored you.  I tear you down all the time.  You're right."

The boy stared at him in a listless stupor.  He'd actually _admitted_ it?  It couldn't be possible…could it?

"Ryou..my son…I don't know what to say.  I'm under a lot of pressure right now—"

"—You're not the only one."

_//Boy, watch yourself. //_

His father sighed.  "I'm trying to help.  I put you in therapy—"

"—That's not going to make it all go away!  You can't just put a band-aid on my psyche and expect me to be normal all of a sudden!"

"But I'm trying, Ryou!  What else can I do?"

"Talk to me!"

"I just tried, but you only chastised me."

Ryou clenched and bared his teeth as if he would growl.  "Talk to me because you _want_ to, not because some suit tells you to," he yelled, risking another strike, but his father's hand did not fly.

"Do you know what I go through every day," the older man asked instead, "to provide for you?  Do you realize how hard I work to keep you pent up in the lap of luxury?  The finest clothes and tutors and private schools money can buy—"

"This isn't about _money_," the boy objected, disgusted at his father's selfish digression.  "Put me in rags and rent control, I don't care.  Just _talk_ to me.  I'm suffocating here."

His father stiffened.  "This is the gratitude you show me?""

Ryou would have laughed, were he not so close to tears.  He shook his head and in a defeated whisper yielded, "You don't get it."

"Go to your room, young man," his father ordered without skipping a beat.  "You're grounded."


	9. fourteenth session

DOCTOR KYOTO TAKEI

ON PATIENT Ryou Bakura

AS OF THE fourteenth SESSION

                NOTES:

Patient has ceased to show any signs of self-mutilation.

As his outward mannerisms become more docile and typical of a boy his age, the journal entries he willingly allows me to glimpse continue to grow darker and more desperate.

He insists he is doing better than when our sessions first started, but I'm convinced his sociological sense of reality is tragically skewed.

Schoolwork and studies achieve 'A' marks.

Outbursts and lapses in memory have ceased.

The boy is complying with all prescription orders.

                DIAGNOSIS:

Patient is pulling a façade in order to appease his father, but is emotionally and socially crippling himself.

Hypnotism may supply insight to underlying mental conflict.

I have ruled out physical child abuse by the father—but there is no doubt in my mind of emotional and mental abuse.  The father may need to be referred to counseling as well.

                ATTATCHED:

I've included a journal entry yielded rather willingly.  I am inclined to believe the boy wants to be helped.  In any case, I can be sure he wants to be heard.

Dear Diary,

                The other day, father took me to a restaurant.  I still don't know the occasion.  We ate in silence—I ordered sukiyaki something or another.  I'm still getting used to this Japanese food.  Everything else is all right—I started learning the language when I was a toddler since dad planned to move here at one point anyway, so it comes rather naturally to me now.  I don't mind the odd traditional clothing either—they even have tea here.  So everything else is all right.  I just can't figure out this food.  Raw fish on rice and seaweed?  And they sell it for so much, too.  I'm starting to get the conversion from Yen in my head without even using a calculator.

                Hmm.  Where was I going?  Food, restaurant…ah.  While we were there, quiet as church mice, I looked over and who did I see sitting right beside me, hovering like Death itself?  None other than the one and only ghost haunting my mind (he says he's the Spirit of the Ring, whatever that means) sitting there—right there—in the flesh.  Ha!  Now father could see.  Now he could know I'm not crazy.  Now they all could understand—except I saw the waitress behind him where I shouldn't have been able to see anything but clothes and skin, but there she was, and the far wall and all the customers in between.  He was there, but he wasn't.

                And as I began to glance around the restaurant, I realized to my dismay that _no one else could see him but me_.  The waitress who'd been taking an order behind him even turned around, turned right around and walked past him, walked through him.  Her elbow cut right through his shoulder—passed through flesh and muscle and bone like it was air.  It _was_ air.  It was nothing, and he was nothing and then I saw with alarm that he'd been staring very hard at me that whole time, the corner of his mouth upturned in a haughty sneer.  _I'm not hallucinating_, I kept telling myself. _ I'm not.  He's real enough, I know.  I know he's real.  He's just…invisible._

                I was scared and so stopped looking at him and he disappeared sometime after, though not for good.  That whole thing's not really what's on my mind, anyway.  See, it got me thinking about something—about how kids have imaginary friends.  I never had one, so I don't know, but when I lived back in England, there was this little whelp—I remember—he had an imaginary friend and he was proud of it.  The rest of us regarded him as odd for as long as I knew him, but he didn't care.  The strange thing about him was that he never said "imaginary."  He said "invisible."

                It could be that this bloke had a wildly vivid imagination; his pretense became so real that, in his mind, it actually existed.  Or it could be that, as any small child, he could easily get words mixed up and either no one cared to correct him, or the blunder had been uttered so many times that the notion had been forever lodged in the childish part of his brain, sentenced to chase around sticky-sweet memories of mud pies and tongue baths from a large furry dog—perhaps named Nana—until this kid is a grown man.  I'll never know which.  And I guess it doesn't matter.

                But I found myself walking around today contemplating the self-same enigma.  People can last their whole childhoods convinced that the bogeymen live in their closets, or that monsters wait under their beds.  The job of the parents is to calm their nerves—they open the door, turn on the light and look under the bed—nope, nothing here, 'night sweetheart.  But as soon as the light's back off, the darkness swirls again in threatening shapes and the monsters return to whisper in their ears.  They exist.  They're real enough, all children know.  So why can't anyone else see them?  Why won't anyone else believe?

                Kids are funny that way.  They can go their whole lives as children convinced of the most absurd things.  Bogeymen.  Ha!  Of course, I myself have never been afraid of such things.  The closet doesn't scare me.  I'm not afraid of the shadows on the walls or anything hiding under my bed.  How foolish would that be?  There's only one thing in this world that scares me.  And he was staring smiling at me in a restaurant the other day.  And I saw him, though no one else did, although he was there, although I know for a fact that he exists.

                Then it occurred to me—what if there are no such things as "imaginary" friends?  What if they're all just "invisible"?

AFTERNOTE ATTATCHED:

Father declined at mention of hypnotic therapy for the boy.


	10. the shadow taking over

And then it came—a ripping, tearing sensation—a  separation of mind and body.  Momentarily blind in a flash of the brightest light somehow born of the most debase dark.  A scream was torn ragged from his throat, but he was beyond his father's ears by then.  He'd felt this before.  Half a dozen times before.  Why now, why here?  

Ryou saw through his own eyes but at that moment they were somehow not his own.  His father trembled, hesitated, pulled back from the apparition before him—his son, but impossibly darker, hair slightly more disheveled, eyes older and more stern, posture slouched and strong and animal and seductive, shadowed eyes and serpent smile.

"Ryou?"

"You would be wise," cooed the apparition, and his voice was like poisoned honey, "to leave the memory of my dead mother in peace.  I'm tired of arguing with you, old man.  You try my patience."

_/Please don't hurt him. /_

_//You know you want me to. //_

_/No I don't!  Let him be!  Don't you hurt him, please! /_

_//Silence! //_

"Ryou, if I've angered you—"

"You have.  Far too many times for me to go on pretending," he declared with a dangerous flicker in his eyes.  "My whole life I've let you kick me around.  If it wasn't mother or the baby, it was your job—there was always something, wasn't there?  I was never important enough for you.  It's making me sick."

_/S-stop it. /_

_//You know I'm telling the truth. //_

_/…stop./_

"Why do you hate me?  I'm your son—why do you hate the sight of me, or the thought of striking up any pathetic conversation with me?  I've never asked anything of you, but the simple fact that I exist keeps you at bay, doesn't it?  I don't understand, and I'm tired of trying."

_/Yami, please…/_

_//I'm only saying what you're too weak to admit. //_

"Ryou, what's the matter with you?" his father asked, alarmed at the burning insolence, Cheshire sneer, and effeminate lean in his son's hips.

"You're right, old man.  I've got a problem.  It's you—a problem I am considering taking severe measures to eradicate."  The rasp in his voice had worked itself into a growl.  His eyes flickered dangerously with a furious light.  He seemed to rear in preparation for some pending decisive action.

_/Stop it! /_

_//Stay out of it! //_

_/No!  Leave him alone, you worthless fuck! /_

The apparition faltered, growled, lunged and was tearing the father to pieces, howling curses in a thousand ancient tongues, reveling in the feel of warm blood on his hands—except he clawed only at an empty wall.  There was no apparition on the outside—there was Ryou, withdrawing at once from his frightened father, weeping, and falling to his knees.  He'd torn away.  He'd torn the apparition away—had  forced him back to save his father.  He'd torn, and it hurt.

His father left him crying on the floor.


	11. hypnosis

Doctor:           Okay, Ryou.  At the request of your father, I'm going to try something new today—

Ryou:             Hypnotism, I know.

Doctor:           _(after a pause)_ Are you all right with that?

Ryou:             _(looking away)_ Sure.

Doctor:           _(taking a note on the pad of paper resting in his lap)_ Doesn't sound too convincing.

Ryou:             If it bothered me, would you not do it?

                        _(Several papers on the doctor's desk are disturbed by an unseen force and fall to the floor.)_

Doctor:           _(after restoring the papers)_ Point taken.  _(He shifts himself, setting the pad of paper and pencil aside.) _Now, then—I am going to count to ten slowly and when I reach the number ten, you will have slipped into a trance and you will be able to speak with me on a subconscious level.  Do you understand?

Ryou:             Yes.  _(after a pause)_ But can you promise me something?

Doctor:           _(looking concerned)_ I don't know.  What is it?

Ryou:             _(swallowing hard)_ Promise you'll still be my friend after…

Doctor:           _(resolutely)_ Yes.  I promise…let's begin.  One.  You are fully alert.  Two.  Three.  You begin to relax and feel drowsy.  Four.  Your eyelids droop.  Five.  Six.  Your eyes are closed.  Seven.  Eight.  Your consciousness is slipping.  Nine.  You are almost gone.  Ten.  You are submerged.  _(pauses)_  Ryou?

Ryou:             _(moves his head but is silent)_

Doctor:           Ryou, can you hear me?

Ryou:             _(slurring) _Yes.

Doctor:           Okay.  _(allows a moment for Ryou to right himself)_ Do you know why your father is upset?

Ryou:             _(sighs)_ I misbehave.

Doctor:           _(picking paper and pencil back up to take notes)_ And why is that?

Ryou:             I'm angry.

Doctor:           Why are you angry, Ryou?

Ryou:             No one understands.

Doctor:           What don't they understand?  _(after Ryou fails to reply)_ Ryou?

Ryou:             You don't understand me.

Doctor:           What makes you say that?

Ryou:             _(after a pause)_ You think I'm crazy.

Doctor:           Why would I think that?

Ryou:             _(sniffling)_ You don't believe me.

Doctor:           _(is silent)_

Ryou:             I trusted you and you don't believe me. 

Doctor:           What did you ever tell me that I didn't believe?

Ryou:             _(hesitates)_ The voice…_(he twitches, exhaling sharply)_

Doctor:           Ryou?  Ryou, what was that?

Ryou:             _(tears snaking down his cheeks) _I trusted you.

Doctor:           _(brow furrowed)_ Ryou, you can still trust me.

Ryou:             _(shaking head slowly) _No.  I trusted you.  Bipolar…_(He laughs abruptly, once, a sad laughter, and it melts directly into trembling, quiet sobs.)_

Doctor:           _(says nothing, but the guilt in his features is enough)_

Ryou:             _(whispering)_ I trusted you.  _(twitches again)  _No.

Doctor:           Ryou?  Ryou, what is that?

Ryou:             _(weeping) _No, you can't know.  _(This time the twitch is a jerk away from an unseen threat.)_

Doctor:           _(alarmed)_ Ryou, what was that?  Your father?

Ryou:             _(smiling hopelessly)_ You people don't get it.  My father's hit me once in my life.  My mother never touched me cruelly.  _(More tears flow.)_ You don't get it.

Doctor:           Then explain it to me.

Ryou:             _(hugging himself like a child)_ I did.  You didn't believe me.  You didn't believe me when I told you about him—_(jerks violently and his nails dig into his jeans, then his voice changes, deepens) _Shut up.

Doctor:           _(softly)_ Who are you speaking to?

Ryou:             _(his eyes snap open)_ None of your business. Stay out of it if you know what's best for you.  _(He sneers, turns his head, closes his eyes, and the normal voice returns)_ Leave him alone.

Doctor:           _(eyes wide)_ Ryou?

Ryou:             _(growling again and looking at the doctor)_ No!  This imbecile is not my problem.

Doctor:           _(is alarmed and begins to back away)_

Ryou:             _(slams his eyes shut and cries)_ Stop it!  Stop it!  Leave me alone!  Leave them all alone!  I wish you'd die!  I wish you'd never come into my life!  _(with a wailing sob)_ Leave me alone.

Doctor:           _(recovers himself suddenly) _It's okay, Ryou.  I'm going to count backwards from ten and you will come back.

                        _(Ryou still weeps.)_

Doctor:           Ten.  Nine.  You are coming back.  Eight.  Seven.  You are growing more alert.

                        _(Ryou's sobs soften to whimpers.)_

Doctor:           Six.  Five.  You are almost awake now.  Four.  Three.

                        _(Ryou's whimpers are now only ragged sighs.)_

Doctor:           Two.  You are waking up.  One.  You can open your eyes.

Ryou:             _(opens his eyes slowly, surprised to find he's been crying)_

Doctor:           _(concerned) _Ryou?  You okay?

Ryou:             _(sniffles and runs a hand along a tear-stained cheek)_ Yeah.

Doctor:           You had me worried.

Ryou:             _(makes eye contact with the doctor, and upon seeing the distress there, grimaces)_ I'm sorry.

Doctor:           _(still fazed) _Do you remember anything?

Ryou:             _(confused) _No.  _(after a pause)_ What did I say?


	12. spirits and other things denied

"Sir, I'm concerned for your son—"

"Consider it noted, Takei."

"Mr. Bakura…sir…please reconsider what you're doing."

"Work calls me away."

"I understand that, sir…but you can't uproot him every two years.  He's on the brink of working out some rather disturbing issues."  He pauses.  "I've seen him change.  I've seen that thing take hold of him."  

Mr. Bakura is silent, studying the psychologist with calculating eyes.

"If you'll just allow him enough time to really settle down, I'm sure he'll work up the courage to face his demons…Your son has serious mental issues, Mr. Bakura.  You can't keep ignoring them—"

"—I don't like the things you put in his head.  You convince him that his problem is with me.  My son is very stubborn, Takei.  He's thirsty for attention.  He'll do anything for sympathy."

"On the contrary, Mr. Bakura—Ryou has conditioned himself to show no emotion because he doesn't get _enough_ attention.  He shuts himself off from the world."  He pauses again, shaking his head in bemusement.  "But there's something else—something underneath.  It's like a cancer—a cancer of the psyche.  It's eating away at him.  It demands control of him.  It's unlike anything I've ever seen or read about."

"Again you speak of my son as if he were a medical marvel.  That's one of the problems I have with you.  You convince him his condition is special.  There's nothing special about my son—he's just spoiled."

"Oh, but he _is_ a marvel, Mr. Bakura.  If you only could have seen the way he changed while under hypnotism—"

"Hypnosis, _sir_, is quite frankly one of the biggest scandals of your field—"

"I beg your pardon?"  The doctor is fuming.  "It is a perfectly credible act, and it has revealed an alarming aspect of your son that, up until this point, could have been explained away as pretense.  One cannot lie while under hypnotism—it is irrefutable evidence that there is some darker force at work in your son, and it needs to be addressed.  His mental health is in serious danger."

Mr. Bakura rolls his eyes.  "I don't have the time for this.  We leave for Domino City on Tuesday."  He straightens himself and turns to leave.  "I will not waste anymore hard-earned money on your crackpot allegations."

As the other man walks away, Takei calls after him, "I'll pray to God for your son."

Mr. Bakura stops in his tracks and turns his head to glare at the doctor.

"I fear no one else can help him now."


	13. that the shadow still holds sway

_//I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry//_

What did you do?!

_//Little Ryou, little angel, little honeysweet—//_

—Don't touch me!  What did you do?!  What did you do to make father so upset?  Why'd you have to go fuck things up for me like you always do?

(petting soft white hair) _//Don't be angry.  Don't be angry, good little Ryou.  I tried to help.  I know you don't like that doctorkyoto.//_

(tearing away) You're wrong!  I do like him.  He's my friend—

_//Pretty-honeysweet Ryou, you said he didn't believe you…you said you couldn't trust him anymore.//_

…

_//Why do you cry?  Pretty Ryou?//_ (licks a stream of tears past the corner of Ryou's mouth) _//Why such sweetly-salty tears?  Not good for such a pretty face.//_

…

Father's going to move us again.

He's going to take me out of this town, just when I was getting used to it.  He's going to take me away from Doctor Kyoto Takei, whom I finally started befriending.

He's taking me away because of you…

_//You're angry, Ryou?  Angry little Ryou._

_I'm sorry, Ryou.  Little sweet Ryou.  _

_Don't be angry.  Please don't cry.//_

(stroking soft skin)

_//I'll sing for you.  I'll write you a song.  I don't know the tune, but you can help me.  I know you can.  Like a tree—You will be my roots and I will be your shade, though the sun burns my leaves._

_You will quench my thirst and I will feed you fruit, though time takes my seed.  And when I'm lost and can tell nothing of this earth you will give me hope._

_And my voice you will always hear._

_And my hand you will always have._

_For I will shelter you.  And I will comfort you.  And even when we are nothing left, not even in death, I will remember you.*_

_…_

_Ryou?//_

(sniffling)

_//Don't be angry.  I want to keep you.  I want to have you all to myself.  brown eyes white hair sweet skin_

_…_

_Angel.  Where is your voice, angel?  Where has your soft, heartbreaking voice gone?  _

_Can you not speak?  Can you not tell me that everything's okay, that you're not angry anymore?_

_…_

_Ryou?//_

…

You keep taking over.

…

You can't do that, don't you understand?  Don't you understand that you can't just go out and hurt whoever you don't like?

_//…_

_but i didnt//_

You wanted to.

…You can't keep doing that.

My father…he doesn't understand.

We have to be more careful.

_//…_

_gomen…gomen nasai//_

That doesn't make it better.

_//…_

_no_

_I know._

_I'll try to be better.//_

(reaching out to pet soft folds of clothing)

_//Angel…_

_If I act better…_

_can I keep you?//_

(heavy sigh)

As long as you don't hurt me, and as long as you don't hurt anyone important to me.

…

Can you promise me?

(drawing blood with nails against his own chest) _//cross my heart//_

(hesitates)

…

What do you want me to call you?

_//I am the Spirit of the Millennium Ring.//_

…

Yes…I know.

But what do you want me to _call_ you?

(tracing soft features with bloody fingertips) _//i am darkness//_

Darkness…

Before, you called yourself 'yami.'  I know enough of the Japanese language now to understand that 'yami' means 'dark.'

Do you want me to call you that?

_//You would make a name for me?_

_…_

_Angel, you would set aside a word with which to call me?_

_A name of my very own?//_

(hesitating)

If it pleases you.

(stepping close) //Yes.

_Yes, little Ryou.//_

(stepping closer, too close, scaring pretty little Ryou) 

_//Yes, little Ryou, it would.  _

_I would be very happy if you called me such a name—a name befitting the fear in your eyes when you speak it.//_

(familiar apprehension returning at that tone)

Yami?  You're frightening me.

(cheshire smile, closer still, cornering little honeysweet Ryou) _//Yes boy._

_Afraid._

_I get to keep you now?_

_I promise to be good.//_

…

(fear reassumes dominion in his brown eyes)

_//…_

_Don't have anything to say now, do you, pretty Ryou?_

_Your father doesn't mind.  At least he won't do anything to stop me._

_Who else do you have to be accountable to?_

_A new town, a fresh start—plenty of chaos to be had._

_…_

_And you're all mine.//_

Yami—

_//Hush, boy._

_I get to keep you now.//_

You promised—

_//Shhh.//_

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~~~~~

*Yami Bakura's poem/song belongs to Mr. Mark Z. Danielewski, to whom I owe, in part, the entirety of this work.


End file.
